


Sleep

by Satine86



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Mild Angst, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard had never been good at sleeping. Set ME3, canon compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has rattled around my head for a long time, then it morphed into complete Shenko fluff. Hopefully it hasn't been played out a million times before.

She’d never been good at sleeping.

Growing up as a Colony kid it was always about sharing space. All her siblings crammed into small quarters, accidentally kicking and smacking each other in sleep. Someone was too hot, another too cold, and for heaven’s sake get off me!

She was used to it though, those were some of her earliest memories, and she learned to cope with disturbed sleep patterns. After the attack sleep was something hard to come by, her nights belonging to nightmares of people dying, and wistful dreams of a family she would never see again.

When she enlisted something about it was familiar, oddly comforting. So many people bunking down together, all the ins and outs of sharing space, learning everyone’s habits, getting used to their noises. There were also the early morning drills and surprise inspections. She handled it the best out of anyone in her regiment because she was used to running on little sleep. 

Once she was serving on ship it was more of the same, sleeping in the crews quarters where there was always someone coming or going for this shift or that. The quiet whispers as people exchanged stories from their last leave, or traded contraband goods, or the new recruit who snored a little too loudly.

When she took over the Normandy SR-1 she was granted access to the captain’s quarters, and she used them for a personal space to collect her thoughts, write her reports, but she still preferred to bunk with the rest of the crew. Because the Normandy was Anderson’s ship, not hers, and she would not sleep in his quarters. Besides, it was too quiet there.

Quiet was a major problem her first night on the newly minted Normandy SR-2, and she finally understood Tali’s complaint when they first met. Inside the foreign captain’s quarters, on a foreign ship, with a foreign crew (save Joker) she thought everything was far too quiet.

It was was silent like the dark vacuum of space and she unconsciously held her breath as she watched the stars above her bed stream past, blurring together into solid lines.

She had never been good at sleeping, but she needed noise if she would ever achieve it. So she made sure the fish tank bubbled and churned, she turned on music and played it loud. Even then there was a heavy silence she couldn’t stand.

When she finally returned to the Normandy, things were more comfortable. It was an Alliance ship again, and it smelled and sounded like one. Still, she could never get used to the captain’s quarters and that was why she spent so much time talking with her crew, wandering around the ship in the wee hours. It would always be too quiet, the bed too big, and she would never be good at sleeping.

It’s quiet now, and she’s still not used to it, but she is used to him. The only sound beside the faint bubbling of the fish tank is his steady breath. She’s still not good at sleeping, even though she is exhausted, but it’s alright because she has him. She had realized, once she got him back for good, that it wasn’t the quiet that bothered her… it was the loneliness.

Rearranging herself, careful not to wake him, she props herself up on a pillow and watches him sleep: the steady rise and fall of his chest, covered in a smattering of coarse hair. She bites her lip to hide a smile, noting a few gray hairs mingling in with the dark ones, matching the streaks at his temples.

She reaches out, brushing back a few strands from his forehead. During his waking hours the gray makes him look distinguished, commanding, like a Major should be. But in his sleep it is a reminder to her of how much time has passed by, how much stress and grief he has lived through.

Her hand traces down the side of his face, stubble prickling against her palm, and the worry lines dissipate, the crease between his brow smooths out. He is calm, content, and she smiles to herself.

Kaidan takes in a sharp breath through his nose and shifts a bit, his cheek pressing closer to her hand. Long, dark lashes flutter and she’s greeted with drowsy, whiskey colored eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says just above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, still trying to wake up. “Don’t be,” he says, voice thick and rough with sleep, “you look like an angel.”

She laughs and pats his cheek gently. “I think you’re still dreaming, Alenko.”

He’s a little more alert now, eyes no longer clouded but lids still heavy. He catches her hand and presses a kiss against the inside her wrist, then tugs her toward him. She complies, pressing flush against him, legs entwining with his, and buries her face in the crook of his neck. She takes in a deep breath. He smells like musk and sweat and the faint metallic scent of eezo that clings to all biotics. It was a pleasant mixture that was entirely Kaidan, and she takes in another breath.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” he says after a moment, “you looked like an angel, haloed by the glow of the… fish tank.” He pauses and she starts to laugh, shoulders shaking helplessly. “That, uh, that sounded more romantic in my head.”

She pulls back and smiles up at him. “The meaning was sweet, even if you still need to practice your flirting.”

“Maybe I need a more amicable recipient, the one I have now only ever laughs at me. Doesn’t do much for a man’s confidence.”

“The inept flirting is cute though.”

“Neither does being called ‘cute’.” He’s fairly pouting now, hair rumbled, eyes still heavy. She laughs again and sits up, swinging one leg over his hips, hands splayed on his chest. She grins down at him.

“I apologize, Major Alenko, sir.” She tosses off a jaunty salute, and he quirks a brow. “Obviously you are not cute. Not even remotely, actually the opposite of cute. Clearly I’ve taken one too many concussive shots to the head, sir.”

“First you laugh at me, now you mock me. I might end up with a complex,” he says even has his hands rake up her exposed thighs, eyes darkening.

“I would never mock you, Major Alenko, _sir_.” Another salute, and this time she moves her hips just so, arches her back. Kaidan makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“As I was saying, sir,” she continues with a smirk, “you are the second human spectre, a highly trained and deadly biotic. You are definitely the most ruggedly handsome person in the room. One could _never_ describe you as cute or infinitely adorable with your puppy-dog eyes. You are the most manly of man. Like, um, a… lumberjack!”

Now it was Kaidan’s turn to laugh, stomach shaking with mirth, jostling her slightly. “A lumberjack?”

“Yes,” she pouts indignantly. “I thought they were supposed to be very masculine. And that Canada was known for them? That and the ones with the red jackets and the hats.” She draws her hand across her forehead, mimicking a wide brim. “Mounties!”

“Are you getting all your information from old vids? Those are full of stereotypes.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs gently. “But Mounties had tight pants, right? Those could be kind of sexy.”

Kaidan finally sits up with a shake of his head, bringing his knees up to keep her from tumbling backward. He places his hands on her waist and eyes her carefully. “Are we honestly discussing lumberjacks and Canadian Mounties?”

“No,” she shakes her head slowly, “ _I_ was discussing how attractive you would be in tight pants. Which is far more interesting.” She smiles and places her hands on either side of his face, leaning in close.

“I’m not dressing up as a Mountie if that’s what you’re getting at,” he deadpans, flopping back onto the pillows as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down with him.

They wrestle for a moment as they try to get comfortable. Kaidan eventually wins, tucking her against him and burying his face between her neck and shoulder. It isn’t a bad position, per se, but she’d had other positions in mind and tells him as much.

“It’s late.. or early. We should be sleeping,” he whispers against her neck, voice husky, breath tickling and sending a shiver down her spine.

“You can’t do that and expect me to sleep,” she moans.

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what, Alenko.”

“I don’t believe I do, _Commander_.” She can hear the smirk in his voice and that makes it so much worse.

“That thing… with your voice.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he laughs. The bastard. “I think you’re mocking me.”

“Not mocking, Commander.” He kisses her neck, causing another shiver. “Teasing, maybe, but not mocking,” he punctuates each word with another kiss up her neck.

“Major?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles right before his lips meet hers.

No, Shepard would never be good at sleeping. It would always be too loud or too quiet, too hot or too cold. Always too _something_ for her to get a full night’s sleep. But that didn’t matter, not so long as she had Kaidan to fill the spaces between.


End file.
